War Wounds
by Philote
Summary: In which Edmund is peeved, Peter is a bit bewildered, Lucy is wise, and Susan handles the kingdom and her siblings like a queen.


Title: War Wounds

Author: Philote

Fandom: Narnia

Characters/Pairing: Peter, Edmund, Lucy, Susan (gen)

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of _The Chronicles of Narnia_ do not belong to me. I make no money from this story. Please don't sue.

Warnings: Spoilers for _The Lion, The Witch, & The Wardrobe_.

Summary: In which Edmund is peeved, Peter is a bit bewildered, Lucy is wise, and Susan handles the kingdom (and her siblings) like a queen.

Author's Note: Written for the 'danger zone' prompt at Taming the Muse.

oOo

He was aware of the pain even as he hovered between sleep and consciousness. At that point, it was a sort of unreal thing, a figment of a dream perhaps.

"I think he's coming around," a familiar voice said from somewhere to his left.

"Peter?" This voice was much closer and feminine. He stirred and tried to pry open his eyes, but the closer he got to wakefulness the more the pain made itself known. He groaned and tried to curl onto his side.

Unfortunately that was a bad move, for the pain spiked somewhere in his midsection. He gasped and his eyes flew open, light and sudden sound adding to the assault as cries of "King Peter!" mixed with the simpler version without the title. As a general rule, only his siblings addressed him as such.

Hands were on him then, carefully forcing him to roll back. He made out the anxious faces of his sisters, replaced in a moment by the healer as she held a cup to his mouth. Strong hands helped him lift his head as he sipped. When he was back resting against the pillow, he looked up to find Edmund sitting beside him. "You might not want to move like that," his brother offered helpfully.

"What happened?" Peter asked as soon as he was able.

It was once again Edmund who answered with a somewhat glib statement. "Turns out the Minotaur's horns aren't just for show."

Memories started to come back. It had been many months since Beruna, and they were still dealing with the vestiges of the White Witch's army. Peter and Edmund had been leading a campaign against a group in the northern forest. He had vague memories of the battle, of blood and yelling before the all-encompassing pain, but none of it was clear. Even vaguer were brief moments of time when he'd been awake since, a haze between him and the world.

Clearly, at some point, they'd made it back to the castle.

"Rest, Peter," Susan was saying. "Everything's fine. You just need to rest."

It was a command he couldn't ignore.

The hours crept by, finally turning to days. He slept and eventually sipped soup, slowly regaining his strength. His siblings visited, Lucy most often. But Edmund's visits were more worrisome by each encounter. He was quiet; too quiet. When he did speak it was in short, clipped responses or sarcasm-laden statements. It was almost like they'd slipped back to their time before Narnia, like he was trying to provoke.

A few days of this, and Peter had had enough. "What is it, Ed?" he finally snapped.

Edmund looked surprised. "What is what?"

"Whatever it is that you're so peeved about."

"It's nothing." The muscle ticking in his jaw said otherwise.

"Just spill it, would you? I'm not up to fighting you for it."

"No, you're not. And whose fault to you suppose that is?"

Peter blinked at the accusation. The pain he still experienced was shortening his temper, and his voice rose to match Edmund's. "I'm sorry; are you angry with me for getting injured in a battle to protect our home?"

"Exactly! _Our_ home, Peter."

He shook his head, because that reply made no sense at all. "What?" He tried to push himself up further, too quickly, and a spasm stopped him cold and left him clutching at his stomach.

When he had recovered, Edmund physically drew back. "We should do this later." And then he was gone, hustling out the door, leaving Peter frustrated and confused as he eased himself back to the mattress.

Not long after, light footsteps approached. The bed shifted slightly, not enough weight to be Edmund returning for another round. He kept his focus on the ceiling, and after a moment Lucy appeared in his line of sight. The tips of her lengthening hair tickled his face as she peered down at him. "He's a bit upset."

Peter snorted at the obvious statement. "But he hides it so _well_."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, some things never change. Would you want them to?"

That was a good point; he didn't like when he couldn't tell what Edmund was feeling. "Guess not."

"Peter, when Edmund was with _her_, were you angry with him?" None of them said her name, and they certainly wouldn't refer to her as queen. Somewhere along the way, even the title 'witch' had been dropped from conversation.

"At first," Peter answered hesitantly, wondering where this was going. "Then I was angry at her; angry at the situation. Afraid for him."

"So, you thought you were. But maybe you were more angry that you couldn't protect him?"

He stared at her, processing the implication. "When did my little sister get so wise?"

She tipped up her chin. "Maybe she always was; maybe you're just finally noticing."

"Help me find Edmund?" he requested, pushing back the covers.

Concern flooded her features. "Are you sure? I could bring him here…"

"No. I'm tired of just laying around."

She gave him a hand up, then hovered around him as they made their way out of the living quarters. After about thirty feet, Peter was praying that Edmund hadn't gone far.

Luckily they had attendants eager to help the injured king in any way. They found Edmund shortly. Lucy left him at the doorway and Peter moved forward, towards the lone figure at the opposite end of the balcony.

He wasn't exactly stealthy at the moment, and Edmund turned before he was even halfway to him. "What are you doing? Why are you up?"

"Fancied a stroll, I guess," he managed, out of breath.

Edmund started toward him with a hand outstretched, then aborted the move when Peter steadied himself by grasping the railing. "You should go back to bed."

"But you're out here," Peter responded easily, slipping onto a not-so-comfortable stone bench as carefully as possible.

Edmund gave him a fierce frown. Peter smiled back at him in return.

After a few minutes of this Edmund broke the silence with an exasperated huff. "You're not going to soothe this over with a goofy smile."

"You want to tell me what 'this' is?"

Edmund considered him for a long moment before he burst out with, "This is about your battle plan, High King Peter."

The sneer that accompanied the address was clearly intended to sting. Peter tried to keep his nonchalance. "What about it?"

"You purposefully kept me out of the danger zone and thrust yourself in headfirst!"

"Your position was important…"

"Sure it was—if you think that a king's place in battle should be to cover an unlikely route of retreat!"

Peter frowned. When he'd laid out the battle plan, he'd had to consider many options for the smaller enemy's response. That route had been a natural choice for them to flee…hadn't it?

How likely had that been?

He told himself he couldn't have predicted the direction the battle would take; that he wouldn't have purposefully sidelined Edmund. But suddenly he wasn't so sure.

Every time he saw Edmund with a sword, he flashed back to Beruna. He could push the memories aside in sparring practice—along with the fear that came with them. Actual battle was a different story.

Edmund was watching the emotions play across his face. He seemed to deflate a bit as he moved to sit at Peter's side. "And I am a king, not a child. A king ruling at your side, Peter. I thought you had faith in me."

This response came far more easily. "I do! You know I do."

"That isn't the message you send with plans like this."

"I'm not trying to belittle you, I promise you that. I suppose…I'm trying to keep you safe."

Edmund absorbed that and finally nodded. "And I suppose I knew that. But I'm not helpless. I am trained; I am a more than capable fighter."

Peter nodded as well, unable to dispute the statements. Still, all he could give Edmund was the quiet truth. "I'm always going to do anything I can to protect you."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but it will be hard to do that from your grave, Peter."

And there, finally, was the emotion that had been hiding behind the anger. Fear.

Peter softened his voice, leaning close. "I'm right here, Ed. I'm going to be fine."

"I know." He hesitated, then confessed, "My first sight of you in the medical tent was a bit less certain."

"I'm sorry," Peter offered, emotion packing the words. He reached to squeeze Edmund's shoulder. "But I wasn't alone out there, you know."

"I know. You had good soldiers with you and it's a good thing, too—it would have finished you off without them. But _I _should have been there."

Peter said nothing. Maybe Edmund had a point, but he was absurdly glad that his brother had _not_ been there.

After a stretch of silence Edmund added, "It's not just me, you know. Philip was quite put out to be excluded in such a manner."

Peter grinned and latched onto the sliver of humor. "I'll be sure to apologize to Philip."

Still, Edmund's expression remained stoic. It was as if he was trying for levity but couldn't quite get there yet. He studied Peter for a long, intense moment. Peter shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny, wincing when his wound pulled. Finally Edmund sighed and said softly, solemnly, "I wish you'd show a bit less concern for my safety and more for your own."

Peter met the piercing gaze, and he remembered looking into those same eyes on a bloody battlefield when they were filled with pain. He remembered watching them close.

He couldn't make that promise. He didn't know how to keep it. He settled for, "I suppose I can try."

"Well until you do, I'll just have to do it for you," Edmund pronounced, standing and tugging on Peter's arm. "Come on, back to bed."

"But it's so nice out here," Peter whined. The outdoors was more pleasant, true, but he was rather uncomfortable, and night was falling quickly. He was just trying once more to illicit a smile.

He didn't get one. Edmund just gave him a chastising look before gently and efficiently getting him to his feet, supporting him with a strength that belied his size. They shuffled slowly back towards the bedrooms, Peter leaning heavily on his little brother.

Lucy was lounging on his window seat, watching the sunset. She jumped up when they came in and hurried to help, pulling back the covers as Edmund carefully helped Peter lower himself back into bed.

He'd just gotten resettled when the door opened once more and Susan entered like a whirlwind. She looked a bit harried.

Her sharp gaze encompassed Lucy and Edmund. "And where have you two been then, hmm? Visiting with him all day? Never mind the past two days, for which you've also been missing in action. And just who do you suppose is running the kingdom?"

Edmund and Lucy exchanged glances. "You, of course," Lucy giggled.

"Well someone had to! There were petitions to hear and an ambassador to meet with. And there's a ball in a fortnight; have you forgotten? It's important to our allies; it should be even more so to us. Do you know how much planning there is to be done?"

Peter felt a little stab of guilt. He'd been preoccupied with the battle, pain and Edmund. Truth be told, he'd hardly spent any time thinking about the state of affairs in Narnia. He offered her a weak, guilty smile. "We knew everything was in very capable hands."

Susan's eyes narrowed on him. "And you. Do you suppose getting yourself gored is a good excuse to lie around all day?"

Peter blinked. "Gored is a bit extreme, but…yes, in the grand scheme of things that require bed rest, I suppose I think it is a good excuse."

"It's not. Now a fever or some other illness; that would be good. At least those are less likely to be things you brought on yourself."

He groaned, tired of being blamed for his own battle injury. "Oh, not you too."

He didn't need to say anything more. Susan automatically flicked a glance towards Edmund before refocusing on Peter. She came closer, stooping to kiss his forehead gently. "Just try to be more careful, hmm? Surely there are better ways to win battles than by throwing yourself on the chopping block."

"Perhaps," he acquiesced, offering her a tired smile.

"Come along, Lucy. We've a big day tomorrow."

"A big day of planning?" Lucy pouted. But she complied, coming to give Peter a kiss of her own before taking Susan's hand and leading the way to the door.

"Do try to remember that there are four thrones instead of one," Susan tossed behind her on her way out. "We aren't meant to do everything alone."

Peter's eyes instinctively went to Edmund. His brother was looking back with similar intensity. "I suppose that is the case," he agreed softly.

Then, finally, Edmund grinned.

oOo


End file.
